


The Devil You Know

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bondage, Breeding Kink, Everything is awful, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Gender Dysphoria, Implied Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Trans Martin Blackwood, Undernegotiated Kink, dubcon, irredeemable smut, it's badwrong, marital rape, noncon, peter lukas is a bad bad man, seriously nobody read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 02:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: For the kink meme prompt: "Peter forces trans!Martin to marry him and have his children. It may or may not be pleasurable for Martin, but it sure is pleasurable for Peter."Peter Lukas loves his husband, especially like this.





	The Devil You Know

Peter has to enter his husband from behind; Martin’s belly has grown too large for anything else to be comfortable. He takes a few moments just to run his hands over all that taut skin, savoring the patterns of stretch marks until Martin is squirming under him. “Come on, Peter.”

“Patience, darling.” He leans back to admire the picture in front of him, of Martin fat and full with his child, shifting uncomfortably on his hands and knees as his stomach hangs beneath him. Peter traces one hand up the back of Martin’s thigh, making him twitch a little — yep, still ticklish. “Did you miss me?”

Martin doesn’t answer, just lets his head hang and thrusts his arse in the air as best he can. He’s wet, his big pink clit swollen and erect; maybe he thinks that’s answer enough.

Peter reaches out to pinch one of his pussy lips, making Martin cry out. “I asked, did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Martin says obediently. It sounds like he’s buried his face in the pillows.

Peter leans forward to rub the head of his cock against Martin’s pussy, resisting the urge to push all the way in. “Did you miss me?” he asks again, in a teasing way, just to feel Martin squirm and groan a bit more. There’s not much he can do his condition, though, to get any more contact between them. “Tell me how much.”

Martin takes in a shaky breath. “I’ve wanted this for weeks. Wanted you to fuck me. I’m so horny all the time, from the baby, all I can think about is getting your cock in me again.”

There’s no telling how much of that’s sincere, of course. Peter doesn’t care either way. He does appreciate the effort, though, and he rewards it by finally pushing inside, feeling Martin’s cunt stretch around him as Martin lets out a satisfied gasp.

It wasn’t like this the first time. The _Tundra_ had just come back into port when Martin showed up in Southampton; Peter had heard, of course, when the Magnus Institute burned. Shame, really, but Elias’s reach did always exceed his grasp.

Martin showed up at the docks, unshaven and wild-eyed, carrying a rucksack that Peter later learned contained all his worldly possessions at that point. Lord only knew how he’d even found the _Tundra,_ but then again, the Eye’s people were always resourceful about things like that. Tadeus had lead Martin to Peter’s quarters personally, shooting Peter a look that was equal parts skeptical and amused when Martin’s back was turned.

“I need your help,” Martin said when Tadeus pulled the door shut.

“I imagine you do,” Peter said languidly. “My condolences about the Archivist, by the way. Is it true he did it on purpose?”

Martin flinched at that. “I don’t — it doesn’t matter,” he said, with the air of a man trying to persuade himself of something. “The archive is gone. Everything’s gone. I need … I need protection.”

“Yes, I imagine you do.” They’d had ways of making enemies, Gertrude and Jon and Elias — different ways all, but enemies just the same. The People’s Church, the Lightless Flame, the remnants of the Circus ... even the Met might have some very specific questions for a surviving employee of the Magnus Institute at this point. Not to mention the demands a wounded, angry god might make of Its last remaining acolyte.

Peter let that statement hang in the air for a few moments, let Martin’s nervous fidgeting get worse and worse. Finally, he shut his eyes and blurted out, “I’ll do anything. Please.”

And wasn’t that an interesting proposition? Peter’s brief tenure at the institute had come with a strict hands-off policy towards Elias’s employees, but that certainly hadn’t stopped him from looking. Now Elias was gone, and there was nothing stopping Peter from indulging himself a bit.

“Anything?” he echoed, and gave Martin a very obvious up-and-down look.

Martin swallowed a few times, but eventually he managed to croak, “Anything.”

And Peter wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that, was he?

He stood up and stepped up into Martin’s personal space; he even loomed a little, though Martin wasn’t too much shorter than him. Martin couldn’t maintain eye contact, but he kept it up longer than most people would’ve been able to. Peter cupped his chin in one hand and kissed him, slow and gentle, waiting for Martin to be the one to deepen it to soft tongues and the bare edge of teeth.

Then, barely pulling back, Peter said firmly, “Take you clothes off.”

Martin rocked like he’d been struck. “W-what?”

“Take off your clothes.” Peter took a step back and smiled. “I’d like to see what’s on offer before I agree to anything.”

For a moment he thought Martin might not comply; his face had gone scarlet, and his expression was somewhere between terror and fury. But there was a moment when Peter could see his body language change, could see the wheels turning in his head. Martin didn’t hold any of the bargaining chips here and he knew it. Peter was probably the only person he could turn to with the power to actually help — well, maybe the Fairchilds, or the Web, if you still counted those as _people._ But their demands would almost certainly be far worse than sex, if they deigned to help at all.

Martin’s mouth went tight and stubborn, but he set his rucksack down and started untying his shoes.

Peter resumed lounging at his desk to enjoy the show. Not that Martin made much of a show of it; the thought seemingly hadn’t occurred to him, and if it had he probably would’ve been very bad. He shrugged off his coat, then his button-down, draping both over his bag. Then his jeans, revealing dark-colored boxer-briefs and blindingly white legs. Only then did he pull up his t-shirt, revealing a tight black undershirt— no. Not an undershirt, a _binder._

Peter, until that moment, had been thinking about Martin as a brief diversion, and later an offering to his own demanding god. Suddenly he had a much better idea. Martin hesitated at this point, down to his underwear, and Peter quickly prompted him, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Martin flushed a darker shade of red, somehow. He shimmied out of his pants, and the soft bulge in the front went with them down to the floor. Then he hesitated with his hands on the lower edge of the binder. “Can I — it’s a bit of a pain to get on and off.”

“Leave it, then.” Peter leaned forward — his quarters weren’t that large — and tugged Martin closer to him. Ran his fingers down the plush swell of his belly, over his pubic mound, then up the side of his thigh, which made him twitch away like it tickled. “Turn around.” Martin obeyed, and squeaked adorably when Peter squeezed one buttock, then the other.

Then he pulled Martin further back, until he was very nearly in his lap. Peter fanned his fingers over the slight swell of Martin’s hips, and then nudged at his leg with one knee, forcing him into a wider stance. “Tell me, Martin,” Peter asked softly, “do you prefer to take it in the front, or the back?”

Martin was breathing hard, nearly panting, and it probably wasn’t from arousal. But he must’ve noticed Peter’s interest, and guessed at what he wanted to hear. His voice quavered a little when he said, “The front.”

Peter kissed him on the back, just below the edge of the binder. “Well, no point in having you get undressed for nothing.”

Martin can’t wear his binders now; his breasts have gotten too big, too sensitive, and his milk is coming in. Peter reaches around as he fucks him and finds a nipple to pinch; Martin groans, and his cunt tightens momentarily. “You’re so good like this,” Peter gasps out, and sinks his teeth into the flesh of Martin’s shoulder, hard enough to raise a mark.

Martin cries out, writhing in time to Peter’s thrusts, but he can barely hold himself up like this, much less do anything about his own pleasure. He has no choice but to take whatever Peter gives him, cock or fingers or even his entire fist — actually, Peter files that one away for later. Not now, though, when he’s busy chasing his own orgasm. Not while he’s trying to wring every noise and twitch and reaction out of Martin that he can.

Martin didn’t react, much, when Peter presented him with the contract. He’d had a few days to clean himself up, but the hunted look hadn’t left his face, and when Peter took him to a decent restaurant he ate too much and too quickly. Now he looked blankly at the documents in front of him like he’d never seen writing before. “What is this?”

“It’s a pre-nup,” Peter said, and grinned as Martin’s back suddenly straightened. “Not the most romantic way to propose, I know, but the family lawyer is very serious about this sort of thing.”

Martin spluttered for a bit, before falling suddenly, studiously silent. His hand hovered over the first page of the contract, as if by just touching it he would be bound. “That’s the protection you’re offering. Bringing me into the family. What do you get out of it?”

“Flip to page three,” Peter suggested.

He did, and as he read he went very still. “...you want me to stop testosterone…?”

“Keep reading.”

Martin did. And then he carefully set the contract down. “Two...two children.”

“Two live births,” Peter corrected. Definitions were important. “Heir and a spare, you know.”

For a moment Martin just stared, breathing hard, unwilling or unable to look at Peter’s face. That was okay; they were the only ones in the restaurant, after all, so they had all the time in the world. “Why...that? Why me?”

Peter leaned back in his chair. “My father’s been after me to do my family duty and all that rot. Seeing as my idiot baby brother went and killed himself, and Conrad doesn’t seem keen on marrying, it’s either I produce some children or we let the cousins fight it out. As for why you…” He grinned. “Because I can.”

Martin had excused himself, and vanished into the toilets for a very long time. Peter took the opportunity to summon a confused and agitated waiter and order fresh drinks for both of them. When Martin came back, his eyes were red, but he finished reading the contract in silence. “Do you … am I meant to sign it now?”

Peter produced a pen for him. “Go ahead. I’ve even booked us a hotel room, if you’re ready to get started on your contractual obligations.”

That first obligation is heavy inside him now, making him soft and round and lovely under Peter’s hands. It makes him wet and needy, makes him submit so sweetly, and Peter thinks idly that maybe he’ll throw out the contract completely. Maybe he'll just keep Martin here in bed forever, get him pregnant again and again, just to have him like this as often as possible.

Peter feels his orgasm coming on, and a thought occurs to him. “Roll over,” he grunts, pulling out.

“Peter— “

“Roll over, on your back.” He nudges Martin with one hand, and with a little groan of frustration Martin maneuvers himself as instructed.

Peter settles between Martin’s spread thighs, tugging his own cock, and comes in streaks all over the great round swell of his belly. It's a beautiful sight. Peter reaches out to smear the seed into Martin’s skin, marking him, claiming him, and feels his baby kick from inside.

Martin groans and covers Peter’s hand with his own. Their platinum wedding bands knock together. “Peter, _please.”_

They were married at Mooreland House. Peter’s father officiated, with Conrad and Tadeus as witnesses. Martin wore an elegant grey suit and looked Peter in the eye as he said the words. Peter slipped the ring over Martin’s knuckle, and that night, tied Martin’s wrists to the bedposts with their neckties.

“Don't worry, darling,” Peter assured him. “I'm still a gentleman.” He bent down for a kiss, palming at his chest through the binder while he explored his new husband’s mouth. Then kissed a trail down his neck and stomach, stopping randomly to bite and suck until the skin was bright red and flecked with broken capillaries. By the time he reached Martin’s cunt, Martin was breathing heavily, and his clit was swelling up out of its hood, almost like a little cock. Peter sucked it into his mouth like one, and Martin groaned, arching his back.

Peter licked and sucked until Martin was good and wet, then slid two fingers in to stroke him open. He alternated the two kinds of stimulus, until Martin was trembling and moaning continuously. “P-peter,” he gasped out, “Peter, please.”

Peter grinned up at him, and rubbed against the base of his clit with his thumb while pressing two fingers in as deeply as they’d go. “Enjoying yourself?”

Martin came screaming, and Peter finger fucked him through it, kissing and biting his thighs until he started whimpering from over-stimulation. Only then did Peter climb atop him, and tug his clothing aside to free his aching cock.

“I'm going to fuck you now,” Peter whispered into Martin’s ear while pushing into him. “Fuck you nice and full, fuck you _pregnant—_ ” Martin squirmed, and Peter no longer cared if it was pleasure or discomfort. He gave himself up to thrusting hard into Martin’s slick cunt, burying himself deep, breeding him so the whole world would know who owned him now that the Eye had been brought low.

When he finally pulled out, he kissed the tear tracks on Martin’s face and rolled off him. “Can I get you anything?” he asked Martin as he caught his breath. It was important to be considerate of one's spouse.

Martin swallowed several times before he spoke; his voice was raw. “Aren't you going to untie me?”

Peter reached out to run his knuckles through the line of hair below Martin’s navel. Martin tensed, and a dribble of semen leaked out of his cunt and onto the sheets. “Hmm. Not just yet, I think. This is a good look for you.”

It’s a good look for him now, covered in Peter’s come and begging for Peter’s fingers. Peter obliges, fucking him deep and hard with three of them. Martin finally comes with a sigh, and a little milk begins to leak from his swollen breasts: fat white beads that dribble down the sides or pool on his sternum. .

Yeah, Peter would keep him like this forever, if he could.

He urges Martin to roll onto his side, so he can spoon behind him. The position gives him free access to every part of him, from his milky tits to his still-sloppy cunt. Peter runs his hand possessively over his belly, toying momentarily with his protruding navel. “Looks like your timer’s popped,” he murmurs into Martin’s hair. “How much longer?”

“Still three weeks till the due date,” Martin answers drowsily.

“Hmm.” Peter does a bit of mental math, but he can’t make the numbers add up. “Shame. I was hoping I’d be able to leave you with another little present before I shipped out again.”

Martin doesn’t say anything to that, just brushes Peter’s hand away when he tries to play with his tits some more. Peter allows it, for now. They’ll want to change the sheets before they actually fall asleep, but just now it’s comfortable to hold his husband so close, to feel the round, helpless thing he’d made of him. To hell with the contract, he thinks, and to hell with the schedules, too. He’ll never leave Martin empty again.


End file.
